The Big Top
by krumkler
Summary: Castle and Beckett investigate a murder at the circus. Set in early season 5. Consider this an 'extra' episode for the season. No angst, no drama, no guessing at what season 6 holds. Just good old-fashioned casketty fun and a Beckett-flavoured case.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **The idea for this came in July, when I was in the throes of Castle withdrawal and wondering how the writers would handle Castle and Beckett dating while solving cases. A bunch of ideas for casketty interactions came to mind, and as they did I would just jot them down. Eventually I figured I should put them together, and finally I constructed a case-fic/episode-fic around all those imagined interactions. So, herein you'll find a Beckett-flavoured case which the couple try to solve while still in the early stages of their relationship. In other words, lots of humour and things I thought we would see on the show. This was a lot of fun to write. I hope it's as much fun to read.

Let's say this happens very soon after After the Storm, but Alexis has already moved out. Just go with it, guys. I need them to still be new and shiny and discovering things about each other.

I also want to thank you guys for all the positive feedback for "Afterwards". I was crazy nervous posting that story because it's so sad. You all are truly great and supportive and kind. This story, which is way more pleasant and fun, is my thanks to you.

The story has five parts. I am aiming for one post a day.

* * *

It was a gorgeous day out. The sun was shining in the sky, not a single cloud could be seen, and Castle was about to see Beckett after a night apart. What else could a man ask for, he wondered, as the cab he was riding pulled up to the address Beckett had texted him. Their crime scene was at a large fairgrounds within Central Park.

Castle paid the driver and hopped out of the cab, two cups of coffee in hand. He took in his surroundings with a negligent eye, noting the the police cars, the uniforms and the CSU techs. But he stopped really paying attention once he caught sight of Kate who was entering the fairgrounds just ahead of him.

He jogged to catch up with her.

"Good morning," he said to her with a wide, unfettered grin as soon as he was beside her.

If it was anyone else but him floating on such a freakin' huge cloud of bliss, he would've mocked them and teased them mercilessly. But he couldn't bring himself to care that he'd become a giant sap ever since she'd knocked on his door and kissed him. He was too happy to care.

Besides, who could blame him for his massive grin? She was wearing an exceptionally sexy pair of boots today. He didn't mention how good she looked, though, because he'd learned very on in their relationship not to say anything when she looked sexy at work. That just made her change her outfit to a plain white shirt.

"Hi," she said, taking her cup of coffee from him and offering a smile in return. They fell in step as he followed her wherever she was leading.

"I missed you last night," he said, keeping his voice low.

He watched the grin spread over her face, and felt very smugly satisfied with himself: they hadn't even spent last night together, and he could still make her glow like that in the morning.

"How was dinner with Alexis?" she asked.

"Great. She's adjusting really well to living on campus." He sighed, thinking of his daughter. "Too well. You'd think she'd be just a little homesick."

"That's not a bad thing," Beckett gently chastised him. Or consoled him. Sometimes he couldn't tell with her. Maybe it was both. "Besides, it's hard to be homesick when you're lucky enough to get regular dinners with your dad," she gave him a light nudge with her elbow, and he couldn't help but smile.

And then he was completely distracted from his musings when he realized where Beckett was leading him.

"Oh my god!" he nearly squealed at the large green and purple striped tent that loomed at the end of the long path they were walking. "The crime scene is at a circus? How did I not notice this!" The tent was, after all, massive. And was that a caged lion he saw? He then noted the uniformed officer standing by the entrance to the tent and his excitement doubled.

"The crime scene is inside the big tent!" He whipped around to look at Beckett, almost tripping over his feet in the process. "This is amazing! Tell me the victim was a clown! That would be so delightfully dark! Not that clowns were always lighthearted," he pointed out, delighting in one of his favourite pastimes: regaling Beckett with trivia. "Did you know that clowning reportedly dates back to 2400BC? And in the Middle Ages, fools and jesters were the only people in the Court who could answer back to the sitting monarch, even openly criticize them. They acted like a social conscience. Shakespeare actually used fools to great effect."

Beckett was shaking her head at his exuberance, but there was a smile on her face.

"Like in King Lear," she supplied, as she continued walking towards the yellow tape that cordoned off the entrance to the tent, "where the fool openly mocks Lear's misfortunes."

"Exactly," he said, sparing her a pleased, impressed glance. Sometimes he forgot how well-read Katherine Beckett was. "Humour can be a tool for subversion because it gives a voice to the powerless. Clowns can be very useful; they're not about just being funny."

"Oh, you don't need to worry about that, Castle: you're plenty funny. Makes up for all those times you aren't useful."

Castle sighed, disappointed with himself. "And I walked right into that one, didn't I?"

Beckett grinned, her eyes sparkling with devilish delight.

"So how do you know so much about clowns?" she asked.

"Went to clown college for a semester," he replied.

"You're kidding."

"Nope, true story. Learned to juggle."

"For research?" she ventured, looking like she maybe didn't want an answer.

"Please," he scoffed. "You know none of my books have killer clowns in them. King already cornered that market. Actually, juggling is a very cool way to impress women. I can't tell you how many times-"

Beckett was quick to cut him off: "And I walked right into that one, didn't I?" she asked wryly.

He nodded. "You did," he said sagely. "Face first. But," he continued, "anytime you want, I can show you all my juggling tricks." He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

Her only response was to roll her eyes before slipping under the yellow crime scene tape.

"So, Lanie," Beckett called out to his favourite ME. "What have we got?"

Castle took a moment to appreciate Professional Beckett, watching as she shifted her full attention to the case at hand.

"Victim is Bartholomew Derring," Lanie replied. "Preliminary COD is multiple stab wounds, and I'd say he was killed last night between 1AM and 2AM, but I'd have to get him back to the morgue before I could tell you more."

"He was the ringmaster for this Circus - The Little Apple Circus." Esposito, who was standing next to Lanie, supplied. "They travelled all over the state, sometimes Jersey and Pennsylvania, staging shows. Derring was forty-five years of age. His only family is an estranged brother who lives in Idaho."

"Victim's not a clown, then," Castle said, trying not to sound too disappointed as Beckett began her usual intake of the crime scene.

"And thank god for that," Lanie declared. Castle arched an eyebrow in question, surprised by the vehemence of Lanie's reply. "Clowns give me the heebie-jeebies," she said, shaking herself off. "They're creepy. What kind of grown man puts on face make-up and makes an ass of himself in public, while being sober?"

"I'm with you on that," Esposito agreed. "Not natural."

"Actually," Castle said, "clowning has a rich history. By some accounts, it dates back to 2400BC."

Esposito looked at Castle like he was crazy, Lanie looked at him like he was an impertinent annoyance. He found Lanie to be infinitely more scary.

"What," he said, a tad defensively, "it's true."

"Anyways," Esposito said, giving Castle one last look, "no witnesses so far. I spoke with a couple of the cleaning staff who were taking a smoke behind the tent, and they say they heard - and I quote - 'thumping noises' at around 2AM. They didn't pay much attention to it at the time, though. They're both new custodians here, and they figured the more senior members were practicing their acts. It's not unusual for rehearsals to go late."

Castle examined the crime scene. Bartholomew Derring was dressed in a tuxedo, his white shirt now covered in blood. The victim was on a wooden stage that sat in the middle of the big ring, his body slumped against a tall, rectangular wooden board that was nailed into the stage. A giant red target sign was painted on the centre of the board.

"What's the setup for?" Castle asked, waving a hand at the large target.

"I talked to a stagehand," Esposito replied. "He said the knife thrower, Daniel Exeter, uses this stage for his act. He also said some members of the circus troop had been up late rehearsing for their show today, so he left the stage standing when he called it a night. This was around 9PM. He came back this morning at 5AM to take the stage down in preparation for the show, and he found the body."

"Knife thrower?" Beckett raised an eyebrow. She ran her gloved fingers over the deep knife indentations that dotted the softwood all around Derring's body. "And our victim was stabbed. Maybe the murder weapon is from Exeter's collection of knives?"

"Ryan is with CSU right now, they're searching Exeter's trailer."

"The body almost looks posed," Beckett observed, taking a walk around the stage.

"You mean, like a ritual murder?" Espo asked.

"No," Castle and Beckett both said at the same time. Castle flashed his partner a quick grin before answering Espo's question. "Looks like he was posed after the murder; not that his murder was part of a ritual. The stab wounds are too haphazard for that."

"Given the blood spatter pattern," Beckett said, pointing to the pool around the body, "the vic wasn't stabbed against the target board. It looks like our killer put the vic in sitting position after he or she killed him."

"That's a strange thing to do," Castle observed. "Maybe the killer knew the vic?"

Beckett gently pulled aside the victim's tuxedo vest to get a closer look at the stab wounds. "There doesn't seem to be much method to the stabbing," she looked at Lanie..

"From what I can tell," Lanie said, "I'd agree. It doesn't look like the killer knew what he was supposed to be aiming for. He just kept stabbing until the job was done. I can confirm it once I get back to the lab, but I doubt I'd even be able to tell you which wound killed our vic."

"Could be a crime of passion. In the heat of the moment, maybe?" Castle supplied. "And then the killer felt bad and propped the vic back up in a show of remorse?"

"We should check if Derring had any enemies," Beckett agreed. "His murderer likely knew him." She frowned as she examined the body. "Lanie, what are these white smudges on the vic's hands?"

"I took a sample for the lab so we'll have to wait confirmation," Lanie replied, "but it looks like makeup."

"Clown makeup!" Castle exclaimed. "I bet it's clown make-up! We might have a killer clown on our hands!"

"Told you they're not natural," Esposito said to Lanie. She nodded in agreement.

Just then, Ryan entered the big tent. "Hey," he said in greeting to Beckett and Castle. "CSU found a suitcase full of knives in Exeter's trailer. One of the knives has blood on the handle. They're bagging and tagging as we speak."

"Let's bring him in for questioning," Beckett said.

"I'll let uniforms know," Ryan nodded.

"Oh," Castle said, crestfallen at the thought of such a simple solve at a place as exciting as the circus.

"Bro, turn that frown upside down," Espo scolded. "Why do you always want complicated murders?"

"Yeah, don't go jinxing our case like that," Ryan said.

* * *

"Mr. Exeter," Beckett said as she took a seat across from the knife thrower in interrogation one. If she had met Daniel Exeter on the street, she would never have guessed that he was a knife-thrower by profession. She in fact would have supposed he was either a graduate student, worked in computer programming, or ran a blog featuring cats. He was lanky, with a nerdy look, and a general air of eager innocence. She had no doubt though, that the knife thrower also had nerves of steel.

"Look," Exeter said, without needing any prompting. He leaned forward in his chair. "I know why you want to talk to me. Derring was stabbed, and I'm a knife thrower. I have a trailer full of knives. Literally." He looked from Beckett to Castle and back. "But I didn't..." he fumbled, not quite sure which words he could use. "I didn't do it."

Beckett raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. Exeter seemed the type to ramble to fill silences, so she decided to wait him out.

"I didn't!" he defended. "Look, I spoke to Derring last night in the big tent, okay, I did," he admitted, running a hand over his face. "But he was still alive when I left. Besides, throwing knives are actually pretty dull."

Her initial strategy validated, Beckett stepped in. "Even a dull knife, wielded with enough force, can be a murder weapon," she said. That effectively silenced Exeter. She saw the nervousness in his eyes and in the bob of his Adam's apple. "At what time did you last see Bartholomew Derring?"

"Uh," Exeter swallowed heavily. "Around 11 or so."

"And where did you go after that?"

"To the open mic night at the Jarvis Club. I had a set."

"Open mic?" Castle asked.

"Yeah, you know, stand-up comedy. I'm pretty good at it."

Castle looked disbelieving.

"What?" Exeter said. "I am. I don't want to be a knife-thrower forever, you know."

Beckett decided to get the interview back into focus. "Can you explain the blood stains we found on one of the knives in your trailer?"

"Yes!" he exclaimed, confidence renewed. "I'm a knife thrower, I sometimes cut myself on my own knives."

"On your dull knives?" Castle asked, scepticism painted over his features.

Exeter startled, and was quick to backtrack. "No! I mean, yes most of my knives are dull, but Derring wanted me to make the act more dangerous. You know, more risky. He said we needed more thrills in the show because business was bad, so I was trying out different kinds of knives, sharper knives." He shook his head. "It wasn't working out so well. That's what I was trying to tell Derring last night, except he wasn't listening. He wasn't even paying attention to me. He was all distracted. But I was done with it. I sold the sharp knives to a pawn shop in Brooklyn right before my act."

"If that's the case, would you be willing to provide a blood sample?" Beckett asked. "And the pawn shop's address."

"To clear my name, of course," he replied, and then began unbuttoning and rolling up his right sleeve. He showed his hand and forearm to them: a series of thin scratches were visible on his palm, along with a deep cut on the web of skin by his thumb. "See," he said, his tone was almost pleading, begging to be believed. "I'm not a very good with sharp knives," he added, "they kind of freak me out."

Beckett studied Exeter. So much for nerves of steel. She wondered if his nervous fumbling was an act. She did know, however, that the cut by his thumb could easily have been obtained in the course of stabbing Derring.

"And people let you throw knives at them?" Castle asked, perplexed as he looked from the cuts on Exeter's hand to his face.

"Well, Sheri is my primary assistant..." Exeter frowned, not quite understanding the question's relevance. "Besides knife throwing is about the illusion of danger. Knives are dull and the wood is soft. It's all in the showmanship. People get scared and thrilled because they expect to feel that way. Like with all circus acts."

A quick knock sounded on the door, followed by Esposito poking his head in. He gestured for a word with Beckett.

"Wait here," Beckett said to Exeter as she and Castle both stood to join the other detective.

"CSU's results just came in," Esposito said, closing the door behind them. "Blood on the knife is not a match to our vic. Lanie is going to compare the stab wounds to see if there's a match for any of Exeter's knives, but for now we don't have any evidence linking Exeter to the crime, besides the fact that he owns the knives."

"That's not enough to hold him," Beckett acknowledged. "He said he sold one set of knives to a pawnshop in Brooklyn. We need to verify the story."

"Got it," Espo said. And then shook his head and gave Castle a dirty look. "This is on you. You jinxed it," he said with disdain.

"Wha-?" Castle raised his hands in a gesture of innocence.

Beckett's phone rang, interrupting the writer from saying much more.

"Lanie," Beckett greeted, putting the phone on speaker. "What's up?"

"Labs just came back on the white substance we found on the vic's jacket," the M.E. replied. "It's clown makeup alright. The stuff is thick and doesn't rub-off too easily; some significant contact was required to transfer the makeup onto the vic's clothes. There was also some of the same makeup beneath Derring's fingernails."

Castle's eyes lit up, while Espo shuddered.

"I also found a light brown hair on the jacket," Lanie continued, "and I'm running the specs on that. I'm going to look at the stab wounds next. I'll call when I have an update."

"Thanks, Lanie," Beckett said.

"You got it," she replied, before disconnecting.

Beckett turned to Esposito, but before she could say anything, Espo cut her off: "how about you and Castle take the clown? I'll track down the knives and speak with the other performers, see if I can dig up anyone who had bad blood with the vic."

She arched an eyebrow, a teasing gleam in her eye. "You afraid of clowns, Espo?"

"No. What?" he replied, not very convincingly. "Me? Afraid? I'm not afraid."

"Uh huh," Beckett teased. Castle was grinning from ear to ear.

"What?" he glared at Castle, because that was easier than glaring at her.

"This day just keeps getting better," Castle said, his glee evident. "Coulrophobia," he gave Esposito a look that was somehow both sympathetic and mocking. "That's the technical term for a fear of clowns."

"I'll show you a technical term," the detective threatened. He looked between Castle and Beckett. "This is crazy. I have work to do. Important case work." He turned on his heel and left, muttering as he walked away.

Castle and Beckett shared a grin.

"Best. Case. Ever!" Castle declared.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: **I lay claim to none of it.

* * *

"Castle," Beckett said, half-exasperated, half-amused. They were about to head into the interrogation room which currently held John Anderson, Professional Clown, and he couldn't keep the grin off his face. "At least put your game-face on before we go in for the interview."

"It's a clown, Beckett," he protested. She was asking the impossible. "How are you not excited? 'It is meat and drink to me to see a clown'."

"Are you going to quote Shakespeare all day?"

"I might. Or..." he held his hands up, fingers spread wide and palms empty, before reaching behind her ear with a theatrical flourish and producing a quarter. "...I might do THIS! Ta-dah! I learned that in clown school," he boasted gleefully.

Beckett sighed. "This is going to be a long day, isn't it?"

Before Castle could answer, her phone rang with a call from Ryan. She put him on speaker.

"Hey, Ryan."

"Have you questioned Anderson yet?" he asked.

"We were just about to head in. Why?"

"Well, we've been talking with the circus company members, and no one has a single nice thing to say about the vic. 'Arrogant', 'narcissistic' and 'jerkface' are just a few of the epithets they have for Derring."

"Charming," Castle said.

"It gets better. Anderson had a beef with Derring. No one knows the details, but the two of them kept locking horns very publicly. And Alex Hastings - he's the lion tamer here - said he saw Anderson leaving the big tent just before 1AM this morning."

"That fits the estimated TOD," Beckett commented.

"Yeah. Hastings is not sure of the exact time, but he's positive it was before 1AM because that's when he usually checks in on Norbert-"

"Norbert?" Castle interrupted.

"His lion," Ryan replied.

"He named his lion 'Norbert'?" Castle said, appalled. "Who does that?"

"Anyways," Ryan said, "that makes Anderson one of the last people to see Derring alive."

"Thanks, Ryan," Beckett said.

"No problem."

Beckett disconnected the call and was about to open the door to interrogation when she paused, one hand on the doorknob. "Game face," she reminded Castle one last time.

He gave her a thumbs up in response, and schooled his expression.

As soon as they entered, however, Castle knew he was doomed: John Anderson was sitting at the table in full costume, makeup included. He was wearing a pair of bright yellow pants with red suspenders, a blue and green striped shirt, and comically large shoes. His face was covered with thick white makeup, red circles sat high on his cheekbones, a near-grotesque smile was painted around his lips, and dark triangular eyebrows were pencilled high on his forehead. Underneath all of that, Anderson had to be in his late forties. The result was actually pretty scary. Castle was already planning on ways to have Esposito 'accidentally' run into this clown, and his excitement could not be contained.

He took a seat across from Anderson, while Beckett chose to remain standing. She, of course, was very composed and … normal, like interrogating clowns in full get-up was an everyday occurrence for her.

"Mr. Anderson," she began in a friendly, conversational tone. "We have a few questions for you regarding Mr. Derring's death. We're trying to establish his movements - where he was, whom he spoke with - during his last few hours."

Anderson looked at Beckett. He blinked once, twice, but said nothing. It was almost like he was in character, Castle thought with fascination. He also thought Anderson might be wearing fake eyelashes. He squinted to try and get a better look.

Beckett continued, unfazed by either the clown or the writer. "Since there were so many people at the circus last night - most of the performers, as I understand it, had not yet retired to their trailers - we are also ruling out possible suspects. Can you tell me where you were last night, between 11PM and 3AM?"

The clown cocked his head to the side as he looked at Beckett. Then, he raised his arms, his palms open in the conventional gesture of innocence.

A frown creased Beckett's brow. "Mr. Anderson?"

An epiphany struck Castle. "Beckett," he stage whispered trying to contain his giddiness at how awesome this interview was shaping up to be. "I think he's a silent clown."

Beckett looked at Castle, and then at the clown. The latter nodded in agreement, his pointedly arched eyebrows arching even higher on his forehead.

"You think this is funny, John?" Beckett said, her tone indicating just how dead serious she was.

Anderson shrugged with comic exaggeration, and Castle used his fist to cover his laughter. Beckett spared her partner a quick glare before focusing on their suspect. Castle could see the wheels turning in her head as she tried to decide on what course of action to pursue in interrogating the silent clown.

Taking advantage of Beckett's distraction, Castle asked the question that was burning a hole in his concentration: "So, why do you wear such freaky makeup? Are you purposefully working the scary angle?"

The clown looked at Castle with mock hurt. He put both hands over his chest, as if wounded. Beckett rolled her eyes.

"John Anderson," she said in her most commanding, scary tone. "We know you can talk so drop the clown act or I will arrest you for obstructing a murder investigation."

The clown's eyes widened with fear, and Castle thought that maybe she'd gotten through. But then Anderson reached into his shirt and pulled out a garish bouquet of flowers. He held them in front of Beckett, waving them slightly to entice her into accepting. The flowers were accompanied by an overly innocent, apologetic expression.

"Nice!" Castle said excitedly, referring more to Anderson's performance than to his magic trick. He added, "but she already knows that trick. Do one for me!" He leaned forward in anticipation.

Anderson mirrored Castle's movements, leaning in closer to the writer. Before Beckett could reprimand him - Castle had developed a keen sixth sense for when Beckett was about to scold - Anderson gestured with his right hand for Castle to come even closer, while his left hand slipped into his shirt. Castle leaned further forward, and was suddenly hit square in the face by a stream of water that squirted out of a flower pinned on Anderson's jacket lapel.

Castle blinked, water dripping down his nose and onto the table. He gave Anderson a disappointed look. "That wasn't very original," he said with a slight pout, wiping his face with his fingers.

Anderson looked very smug.

"That's enough," Beckett said sternly. She gave an especially scary look to Castle. "Both of you."

Anderson put his hands on his face, as if in fear, his lips forming into a wide 'O'.

"Fine," Beckett said, slamming the leather folder she was holding onto the table. "You keep clowning around, Mr. Anderson, while I tell you just how much trouble you're in." She leaned across the table, hands planted firmly on the cool metal as she invaded Anderson's space and looked him straight in the eye. "Bartholomew Derring is dead. We found your makeup on his clothes and under his fingernails, indicating that you and he struggled shortly before his death. We also have witnesses who place you in the big tent at 1AM, which is when our M.E. places Derring's time of death. All this evidence makes you a suspect in his murder investigation. Not just any suspect, but a prime suspect." Beckett went from severe to downright fierce, and Anderson's clown persona was replaced with genuine concern.

"I have enough here to charge you with murder, John," she continued. "I have enough to arrest you and put you in jail until you make bail. I was doing you the courtesy of an interview, to give you the chance to defend yourself." Beckett leaned in closer to the clown, and he visibly recoiled from her proximity. It wasn't an act. "But clearly that was a waste of both our time," Beckett concluded. "You can take you chances in court."

"Wait!" Anderson exclaimed with a distinctly Jersey accent, his eyes now wide with genuine fear. "Wait! I didn't kill Bart!"

Interesting, Castle thought. He'd always figured the clowns that Hoboken produced wore fake tans and abused steroids.

"I'm sure you won't be surprised," Beckett responded with an uninterested wave at the bouquet of flowers still on the table, "when I say I don't believe you."

"I swear!" he protested eagerly. "Yeah, I had a fight with him last night, but he was alive when I left!"

"A fight with a murder victim," Beckett pointed out, "just before his death, indicates motive."

"Would I admit to fighting him if I was guilty?" Anderson defended.

Beckett still wasn't budging. Castle thought she was being extra tough because she was still annoyed by Anderson's clowning around earlier. The clown withered under her harsh stare.

"Look," he said, "I wanted out of my contract at the circus. I was approached by a cable network producer who's putting together a reality show on clowns," he looked from Beckett to Castle. "You know, the kind of show where contestants all live in the same house and have to perform tasks and go through elimination rounds? It was going to be my big break. Do you know how long I've been doing this schtick? And finally, finally, clowns are going to be the next big thing," he declared.

Beckett looked sceptical about that last comment, while Castle nodded his agreement.

"But," Anderson continued, "Bart is an egomaniac and a selfish asshat on his best days, and he refused to let me out of my contract. He was going to cost me my big break. So what if I'd had a bit to drink and I confronted him. I got mad and I shoved him. But that's it," he said, his anger was clear, but so was his insistence. "That's all that happened."

"A reality TV show?" Beckett asked, her scepticism still evident.

"Ask my agent," Anderson said. "I hired one right after the show's producers approached me." He kneeled down and pulled a business card out of one of his oversized shoes. "This is her card."

At Castle's look, Anderson said: "You wouldn't believe the storage space in these things." He waved his giant-shoe-clad foot under the table. Castle bent down to get a closer look.

Beckett took the proffered card and put it in her folder.

"Can anyone confirm your whereabouts after you left Derring last night?" she asked.

"David!" Anderson exclaimed. "He saw me coming out of the tent just as he was walking in. Derring was still alive."

"David?" Castle queried.

"David Garner," Anderson replied. "He's our senior acrobat. He looked mad as hell when he walked in."

"And after you left the tent? Where were you for the rest of the night?" Beckett asked.

"I was in the prop room." Here, Anderson hesitated.

"Mr. Anderson." Beckett said sternly. "Do not lie to me."

"No!" Anderson raised his hands. "Look I was just kidding around earlier, with the clowning. I didn't realize you thought I actually killed the guy. I swear," he repeated emphatically, "I was in the prop room last night. From like quarter to one until morning. I was heading back to my trailer when I heard the screams coming from the big tent. I ran over and saw Derring just lying there, everyone standing around, staring..."

"You were in the prop room all night?" Castle asked with surprise. "What were you doing? Rehearsing?"

"Um, not really. I was doing …" he hesitated, glancing at Beckett before continuing, "I mean, I was with Hilda and Etheline. They're the two junior acrobats in our troupe."

Castle's eyebrows reached his hairline.

"They'll confirm it," Anderson said. He gave Castle a shrug. "I'm telling you, clowns are the next big thing. Chicks dig us."

Beckett pulled a face. Castle had to agree with her: it was hard to imagine anyone finding Anderson attractive. And Castle had an exceptionally good imagination.

"Do you know why David was upset?" Castle asked, if only to stop his brain from going down unpalatable roads.

Anderson shrugged again. "It's no secret that everyone pretty much hated Derring. I'm sure Dave had a good reason for being upset, whatever it was." He looked at Beckett again. "Seriously," he said, wagging his eyebrows and pointing to the bouquet on the table. "the flowers are for you."

Castle was very proud of her for not shooting the clown for that.

* * *

Beckett was sitting in her chair, finishing a phone call with Anderson's agent to verify his story, when Castle deposited a fresh cup of coffee by her elbow. She gave him a thankful smile as she hung up the phone.

"Any word from Ryan or Esposito?" he asked, taking his usual seat by her desk.

"They're on their way in with the senior acrobat, David Garner, right now. They finished interviewing all the troupe members, and Espo found the knives at the pawnshop in Brooklyn, which corroborates Exeter's story. CSU is testing the knives as we speak," she replied.

"Hm," he said in response. His fingers tapped a thoughtful tattoo on her desk. He stared off into space, wearing an expression of disappointment..

"Why the long face?" she asked him.

"The circus," he said on a sigh, "has decidedly lost its lustre. Acrobats sleeping with clowns? Lions named Norbert? Knife throwers who are scared of sharp blades?" he pouted. "This is the worst case ever. This is the case where childhood dreams go to die."

Beckett gave him a sympathetic smile. She would have to agree, though sans the drama. She had pretty fond memories of trips to the circus, too, mostly associated with her grandfather. Seeing the inner workings, however, did take away quite a bit of the wonder. She could hardly blame Castle for feeling disappointment where, just hours ago, he'd been nothing short of a kid in a candy store. Once you walked deeper into the fairgrounds and found the collection of trailers and picnic tables that circus performers called home; well, it was hardly a very romantic or adventurous lifestyle. This particular circus had clearly fallen on hard times: the trailers were quite old, with peeling paint and rusted sides and a general air of exhaustion. And, apparently, everyone also hated the ringmaster.

"Well," she said, thinking maybe distracting him with the details of the case was a good idea, "I called Anderson's agent while you were making us coffee. She confirms his story: there is a reality TV show in the pipeline. Go figure."

"I'd watch it," he perked up, but only a little.

"Now, why doesn't that surprise me?"

"Because you know that I am a man of very refined tastes," he hazarded as an answer. Beckett made a face, which just made Castle grin. Mission accomplished, she thought as his eyes sparkled with humour. She returned his smile, and then got all trapped up in the warm blue of his eyes.

She managed to look away only when she spotted Esposito and Ryan stepping off the elevator, with the senior acrobat, David Garner, in tow.

Castle turned to follow her gaze. "And that's another reason I won't be going to see a circus performance anytime soon." Castle commented, watching Ryan and Espo usher the acrobat into interrogation and close the door behind him. "All the performers want to murder the ringmaster."

"Anything?" she asked as soon as Esposito and Ryan approached her desk..

"The junior acrobats confirm Anderson's story," Espo replied with distaste. "They were in the prop room." He looked at Castle. "The junior acrobats said he was in full make-up the entire time-"

"Because you had to ask," Ryan interjected, clearly traumatized. "Why did you have to ask?"

"Do you still think clowns aren't freaky?" Esposito challenged Castle, completely ignoring Ryan's interruption.

"Freaky?" Castle replied. "No, clowns are not freaky. Kinky, though? Yes, definitely."

"Anderson's agent confirmed the reality TV show deal," Beckett ignored her male colleagues and instead walked over to the murder board. She removed Anderson's picture from the list of suspects. "So that rules him out. What about the senior acrobat?"

"Garner looked pretty unconcerned when we said we wanted to talk to him down at the station," Ryan said.

"When we spoke with Anderson," she said to the two other detectives, "he said Derring wasn't letting him out of his contract. Ringmasters don't usually have that kind of management authority, do they?"

"That's true," Ryan answered, "but Derring was part owner of The Little Apple Circus. That's another one of the reasons everybody hated him. He made their lives miserable, but he couldn't be fired."

"Would you guys dig into his financials?" Beckett asked. "See what he was into? Exeter said that the circus was doing poorly. Maybe our vic got into something he couldn't get out of. Let's cover our bases."

"No problem, boss," Espo replied.

"Thanks," Beckett said. "Castle and I will talk to Garner. But first, given how everyone hated Derring, can I have a copy of your interview notes with the other members of the troupe? Make sure I have all their stories straight?"

"Sure thing." Ryan slipped his notebook out of his pocket and handed it to Beckett. "I haven't had a chance to type these up yet."

"That's fine," she replied.

"Yeah, you have good penmanship, Ryan," Castle added. He pointed at Esposito. "This guy on the other hand..."

Esposito shrugged easily, and patted Ryan on the shoulder. "And that's why I let my partner take all the notes. I'm just no good at it."

* * *

A half hour later, after having read Ryan's notes, Beckett and Castle were back in the interrogation room. Castle observed Garner, while Beckett took her usual lead in the questioning. The acrobat was in his early twenties, of medium height and build, with dark hair and light eyes. He was sitting with the casual ease of a man who had nothing to be afraid of.

"Mr. Garner," Beckett said, seated across from the acrobat. "Thank you for coming in."

"Right," Garner replied. "I wasn't sure I had a choice."

"We understand you might have been one of the last people to see Bartholomew Derring alive," Beckett replied, ignoring his slight attitude.

"Is this about the fight we had?" Garner said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "It isn't what you think it is. Garth almost bit off my head, so of course I unleashed on Derring." He shrugged. "Who wouldn't?"

That, Castle made a mental recap of Ryan's notes, would be Garth Olaf, resident strongman. It was a good thing he and Kate had boned up on Ryan's notes. This was like one of those old-school mysteries that had more characters than a reader could keep straight. Not his style.

"The strongman?" Beckett asked with a frown. "Why would the strongman biting your head off lead you to an altercation with Derring?"

"Because," Garner said as though it was obvious, "Garth had me in a chokehold yesterday, saying I slept with Sheri."

"Sheri?" Here, Castle jumped in. Nothing like an affair gone wrong as a motive for murder. "The other senior acrobat?"

"Actually she's the troupe's contortionist," Garner said.

For the second time that morning, Castle's eyebrows hit his hairline. His ears perked up. Maybe this case wasn't so terrible after all. "You guys have a contortionist?"

Beckett rolled her eyes. She did it discreetly, Castle noted. But still.

"I gather Garth and Sheri are in a relationship?" she asked.

Garner nodded. "For years now. Before my time."

"And you are having an affair with Sheri?" Beckett asked.

"Oh, please." Garner protested with an easy laugh. "Are you kidding me? Garth was crazy: he was getting all paranoid and jealous about me and Sheri for no reason. We were just work colleagues who work together." He shook his head, as though to emphasize just how preposterous the idea was. "I mean, it would be like you two sleeping together," he waved a hand towards them to prove his point.

Kate opened her mouth to reply, but nothing came out. Castle looked up and down and all around - basically anywhere but at her or Garner.

"So, um, Garth was jealous," Kate said, trying to get the interview back on point.

"That's right," Gerner replied, mercifully oblivious to his interrogators' strange behaviour. "Crazy jealous. But not wrongfully."

"What do you mean, 'not wrongfully'?" Castle said. "You just said you weren't having an affair with Sheri."

"And that is a fact. I wasn't having an affair with Sheri, but Sheri was having an affair. With Derring."

"With Derring?" Castle was incredulous. "I thought no one liked him?"

"Everyone did hate him." Garner dropped his easy facade. He leaned forward in his chair and looked squarely at Castle. "He had the heart of a dead fish."

Castle's eyes widened at the clear hatred in Garner's voice.

"Did Garth know about this affair?" Beckett asked.

"Hell, everyone knew before Garth knew. Big guy's generally clueless - all brawn and no brain. But then, he got the video."

"Video?" Castle asked.

"Video," Garner confirmed, one eyebrow raised, lips pursed. He was back to slouching casually in his chair, once again in control of the conversation. He clearly enjoyed sharing all the salacious details. What a gossip. Castle wondered if he was the very reason everyone knew Sheri was sleeping with Derring. "A video of the ... incriminating kind, shall we say."

"Of the contortionist sleeping with the ringmaster?" Castle recapped eagerly. "While she was in a relationship with the strongman?"

"More than sleeping," Garner said, equally eager. "They were caught red-handed." He shook his head with regret, "frankly, if I'd known she could move like that in bed-"

"Okay," Beckett interjected, "that's enough. When did Garth get the video?"

"Yesterday morning. I think it was emailed to him. He watched it on his cellphone, then threw the phone at the wall and stalked out. I checked the phone. You know," he justified, "to see what had the big guy so worked up."

"You're a good friend," Castle said sarcastically.

"Well, it's a good thing I checked," Garner defended, "because I figured Garth was about to do something stupid. I reached Derring's trailer just in time to pull Garth off of him."

"This happened yesterday morning?" Beckett asked.

"Yeah, around 11AM. I pulled Garth off, and then he disappeared. I haven't seen him since."

"Why did you wait until 1AM that night to confront Derring? That's more than twelve hours later."

"After Garth stalked off, I went to check on Sheri," he replied, "to make sure Garth didn't lose his temper on her, too."

"And I'm sure you wanted to update her on the video," Castle said wryly.

"Hey," he shrugged, "she needed to know. Didn't make a difference, though. Couldn't find Sheri anywhere. By then it was nearing noon, and our first show of the day was at 1PM, so I had to get into costume. Didn't get a chance to give Derring a piece of my mind until much later that night."

"You said you didn't see Garth again after he confronted Derring?" Beckett asked.

Garner nodded.

"Didn't he perform at the one o'clock show?" Castle followed up his partner's query.

"No, neither he nor Sheri did." Garner shook his head. "We had to go on without them. One of the junior acrobats filled in for Sheri during the knife throw act. We skipped over the rest of their parts, let Anderson clown around a bit more. They weren't there for the late afternoon show either."

Beckett and Castle exchanged a look. Persons behaving oddly in the hours preceding a murder generally meant they were somehow involved.

"How long were you with Derring?" Beckett asked Garner.

"Fifteen minutes, tops. Then I was with Beatrice and Jack until, I don't know, it must have been 3AM by the time I got to bed."

"The bearded lady and the tightrope walker," Castle prompted when he saw Beckett open her folder to run down the list of troupe member names. So he wasn't the only one who thought there were too many players to keep straight in this game.

Garner's alibi, Castle remembered from Ryan's notes, was the same one he'd given the other two detectives earlier. No luck in tripping him out in a possible lie. So they had a motive, but no evidence tying Garner to the crime.

Beckett must have agreed with his conclusion, because she switched tracks in the interrogation. "Is there anyone else you know who had a grudge or an issue with Derring?" she questioned.

Garner shrugged. "It'd be easier to tell you who didn't hate the guy."

Castle and Beckett looked at the man across from them in twin anticipation.

The acrobat looked from one to the other, and said as though the answer was obvious: "No one. No one didn't hate the guy."

Beckett bit back a sigh. "Anyone hate him enough to want to kill him?"

"Detective," Garner said, straightening in his chair. That fierce animation once again lit him up, "Derring ran the circus like a despot. He held all the power and he knew it. He treated us like dirt, withheld wages, didn't keep the place clean, would pick the worst time to hold rehearsals, gave us no say in the creative direction of the show. We spend most of time living together, traveling together, performing together, and Derring made it all a living hell."

"If things were so bad," Castle said, "Why didn't you guys just quit?"

"Derring used to be one of the best circus performers of his generation. His name still carries weight in the industry, even if Little Apple Circus can barely drum up any business. And he still knows some pretty big people in the circus business. If we quit, he would've made sure no place worth working at hired us. We figured, we put our time in and we'd eventually reap the benefits. " Garner sighed. "All said, though, I'd be lying if I said that after a long day in the ring, or an even longer day traveling the backwaters of the great state of New York, even I didn't sometimes fantasize about cracking his skull open with a brick."

* * *

Castle followed Beckett through the large metal doors of the autopsy room, to find Ryan and Espo were already waiting with Lanie.

"What have you got for us, Lanie?" Beckett said by way of greeting, giving the two detectives a greeting nod.

"You'll like this," Lanie replied, leading them to the body on the autopsy slab. She pointed to the stab wounds covering Derring's chest. "It's definitely Beckett-flavoured."

"Woah," Castle said, looking at the mess of stab wounds on their vic.

"A total of eight stab wounds," Lanie explained. "They all look to have been made with the same knife. But, if you look carefully, the wounds aren't really consistent in the way we'd expect them to be."

"What do you mean?" Castle asked, peering more closely.

"Well," the M.E. replied, "there is a surprising variety in the wounds. Some wounds look like straight up jabs, like this one here," with a gloved finger, she pointed to a cut just below Derring's sternum. "Others were made by twisting the blade into Derring's body once he was stabbed." She pointed to a stab wound between his ribs, and then indicated a wound high on his chest. "But this one was made by stabbing Derring, partially pulling back and thrusting back in. To make things even stranger: there is no consistency in the force behind in each stab, in how each wound was inflicted, or from which angle."

"What does it all mean?" Beckett asked.

"Well, as best I can say, the killer started stabbing Derring when he was standing, continued when he fell to his knees, and didn't stop even once Derring was lying flat on the ground."

"But what would explain the different force behind each stab?" Beckett followed up her own question.

"Maybe the killer lost his temper?" Esposito suggested.

"Well," Lanie replied, "if the killer had lost his temper, it stands to reason that he would thrust more deeply. But a couple of the stabbings are pretty superficial."

"You think our killer's male?" Ryan asked.

"One stab wound broke Derring's fourth and fifth ribs. That takes a lot of force. But another one didn't even scratch his seventh rib."

"Maybe the killer somehow got injured halfway through killing Derring?" Castle suggested.

Lanie shrugged, looking as perplexed as the Detective and the Writer in the room. "Frankly, I don't know how to explain it."

"I suppose it makes sense," Castle said, "that a murder at the circus would be nothing short of convoluted."

"This is your fault," Espo said, shaking his head at Castle. "You wanted a complicated case."

"You jinxed it," Ryan agreed. "We're going to be working late tonight, aren't we? I should call Jenny."

"Your fault," Espo repeated.

Beckett had to hide her smile when Castle responded to the disgruntled detectives with a giant grin.

"But this is so much more fun," he said.

Ryan and Esposito were not amused.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: **I lay claim to none of it.

**A/N: **You clever, clever people. You are getting the vibe I was aiming for, and I think a bunch of you are exactly spot on in your reading of the case. You made my day. Thanks! Your reward is a chapter that rates 10 out of 10 on the shipperiness scale.

* * *

"How can one man - and a ringmaster, at that - make himself so hated?" Castle asked as he watched Beckett update the murder board. "There must be someone out there who liked him."

"Just because he worked at a circus, Castle, doesn't mean he had to be likeable."

"Apparently not."

Beckett bit back a smile. He was unexpectedly endearing when he was being petulant.

"I put a BOLO out on the strongman and the contortionist," Ryan called out from his desk. "No one has seen them since Garth went off on our vic, but according to their colleagues they don't really have anyone they could go to or any cash stashed away. They should turn up soon enough."

Beckett studied the board thoughtfully. "We have a lot of motives and finger-pointing, a lot of alibis, two missing suspects, and not a shred of conclusive evidence." She turned to Ryan, "any word on the murder weapon?"

"CSU tested the knives from the pawnshop: all are negative for blood," he said, coming to stand next to her, "Those knives and the ones we found in Exeter's trailer are also not a match to the stab wounds."

"So we're at square one," she stated. Without a murder weapon or hard evidence, they had only circus gossip to establish motive and opportunity. In a close-knit group like that, she would've liked additional means to verify all the stories being traded.

Just then, Esposito walked up to Beckett, file in hand. "Derring's financials," he said, waving the sheaf of paper.

"And?"

"I did some digging on our vic. Turns out he was a really big deal in the circus business. Peaked as a ringmaster for Barnum and Bailey fifteen years ago." Esposito paused for dramatic effect - something Beckett was sure he'd learned from Castle. "And then he had an affair with another performer's wife."

"Pattern of behaviour," Castle commented.

"The husband, who was a sword swallower, didn't take it well at all. Killed himself."

"Using his sword?" Castle hazarded.

"No," Espo shook his head. He frowned, as though that were a strange suggestion to make. "He hung himself from the rafters of the big tent. Derring quit after that, drifted about taking a few jobs with circuses here and there, not really staying in one place for long. Apparently his heart wasn't in his work. One former employer suspected he'd taken to the drink."

"How'd he go from drifting around to being the ringmaster at the Little Apple Circus for the last four years?" Castle asked. "What changed?"

"Five years ago, his father died - pancreatic cancer, no signs of foul play - and Derring inherited a good amount of money. He went into partnership with a Sean Hennessy and founded the Little Apple Circus. It did really well at first, but it's been in the red for the last two years."

"Any loans or debts owed?" Beckett asked.

Esposito shook his head. "No. Derring managed by cutting costs and, when it got really bad during the colder months, withholding wages. But the circus is valued at a cool quarter million, despite hitting hard times."

"Who gets Derring's shares if he dies?"

"His partner, Hennessy. And get this, Hennessy just had the circus valued two months ago."

"Hey," Castle said brightly, "a lead. And you were worried," he chastised Beckett jokingly. "Javi might've just broken the case."

"Dude," Esposito scolded, "what are you doing? Don't jinx it."

"Oh, come on," Castle said with an eye-roll, "it's only day one. How many murders have we solved in one day?"

"_We_ used to solve a lot of murders in one day before _you _came along," Esposito shot back.

"Huh," Ryan said, frowning in thought, "that's actually true."

"That is not true," Castle responded with certainty. But then doubt flickered over his face. He turned to Beckett, "that's not true, is it?"

* * *

Beckett and Castle were seated across from Sean Hennessy in his office. It was late in the evening, but when Beckett had called to set up a meeting, Hennessy's assistant had told them they could come immediately. According to Espos' profile, the man across from her had inherited most of his money from his very wealthy father, and had since doubled his fortune. Working long hours was probably a factor in his multiplied wealth.

"Mr. Hennessy," Beckett said to the middle-aged man sitting behind a large mahogany desk. "Thank you for agreeing to meet with us this morning."

"No problem, Detective," Hennessy responded with a grin. He was somewhere around Castle's age. He was also, like Castle, both ruggedly handsome and well aware of it. "Anything I can do to help."

"You don't seem too torn up about Derring's death," Castle observed from the chair next to her.

Hennessy shrugged. "Don't get me wrong, Derring's murder is a terrible thing, but I didn't know him that well. We were equal partners in a business venture." He crossed one leg over the other, his ankle resting on his knee and shook his head in disappointment. "A bad venture, at that."

"How did you end up investing in a circus?" Beckett asked. "It's quite a departure from your usual fare."

"I met Derring at a circus-themed fundraiser, years ago. He was one of the acts. A damn good one, even I could tell. We ended up talking, and he convinced me. I was banking on his name, frankly. He had an impressive reputation, and at first, it was enough of a draw. All kinds of talent came knocking on our door, wanting to be a part of Derring's troupe."

"What happened?" Castle asked. "Little Apple Circus hasn't turned a profit in two years."

"People eventually found out that while Derring used to be an incredible talent in his heyday, these days, he drank too much. And somewhere between his heyday and now, he'd also become a bitter, arrogant misanthrope. Hell, maybe he'd always been an asshole and when his star was on the rise, it didn't matter. But he has been one stumble away from rock bottom for a few years now..." Hennessy gestured vaguely with his hand. "People lost their patience with him."

"Are you one of the people who lost patience with him?" Beckett asked.

Interest sparked in Hennessy's eyes as he studied her. "You think I killed him?" he seemed more intrigued than worried.

"You had Little Apple Circus appraised just two months ago," she observed.

"I did," Hennessy was grinning at her. He leaned forward in his chair, his eyes fixed on hers. "This is fun. I've never been suspected of murder before."

Beckett raised an eyebrow, which Hennessy took for the cue it was.

"I was ready to sell my half," he said in answer to her question. "I had decided to cut my losses. Little Apple was a pretty horrible circus. I mean, a bearded lady? Come on. But it wasn't that much of a loss in the larger scheme of my investments. I'd invested a quarter million and would only have gotten half that back. Hardly enough to kill over. After all, I am pretty rich. That amount is just a drop in the bucket."

His eyes sparkled as he spoke, and it was an odd reminder of how Castle had looked at her when she'd first interviewed him: like this was a game, and he was used to winning.

"You said you 'had decided' to cut your losses," Beckett said. "What made you change your mind?"

"I did say that, didn't I?" Hennessy said. "You know, you're really good at this." He looked her up and down with no subtlety at all. "Does the NYPD have a policy against detectives accepting dinner invitations from suspects they've ruled out?"

"Answer the question, please," Beckett replied evenly.

"Yeah, answer the question," Castle echoed. Hennessy glanced with amusement at Castle, but he kept smiling at Beckett.

"Sure," he said easily, "I'll answer any question you have. What changed was Jack Red."

"Your tightrope walker?" Castle asked.

"The very same. Two months ago, Derring hired Jack. He's young, but really talented. Good enough to be in Cirque du Soleil. I have no idea what he was doing at Little Apple, but we were profiting from it. So I figured I'd wait and see what happens before cutting my losses." He studied Castle for a moment. "I can tell from your $5,000 suit that you have money," he said to the writer. "A word of advice: if you're looking to invest it, don't put it in the circus business. It seems promising, what with the Cirque du Soleil guy being worth $2billion, but by god the egos you have to contend with. Not worth it. We're finally looking like we'll make a profit next quarter, and Derring comes to me and says we have to fire Jack. Our golden goose, can you believe it? He couldn't handle that people were buying tickets to see some young upstart, and not him." Hennessy shook his head. "No business sense."

His body language and his tone led Beckett to believe he was telling the truth. "Did Jack know Derring wanted to let him go?"

"If he did," Hennessy replied, "it wasn't because I told him. Derring and I were supposed to meet tomorrow. I was going to tell him that either we kept Jack, or I pulled out of our partnership."

"Where were you between 11PM and 2AM the night before last?" she asked.

"Right here in my office," Hennessy replied. "I was on a conference call with business partners in Hong Kong. Time zone difference. That's why I'm still here at this hour," he shrugged. "All calls are logged," he added. "You can ask my assistant for a copy of the file."

"Thank you for your time," she said, standing up. Castle stood as well.

"If you have any further questions," Hennessy handed her a business card with a smile, "call me. Like I said, I've never been suspected of murder before, let alone by such a beautiful Detective. It really livens up a day at the office."

Beckett took the card, but said nothing.

"And the offer for dinner is still on the table," he called out as Beckett and Castle exited his office.

The moment they were in the hallway, Castle said: "What a jerk. Can we arrest him?"

"Arrest him for what?" Beckett replied, "Do you suspect something? His motive is weak and his alibi is airtight."

"He was an ass."

Beckett stared at him. "That doesn't make him guilty of murdering Derring."

"Well, guilty or not," Castle persevered, "I don't like the guy. He's so cavalier about murder. And flirting like that during an interview." He tsked. "It's disrespectful."

Beckett couldn't help but note the irony.

"You were both cavalier and a flirt when we first met," she pointed out.

"And you didn't like me, back then," he replied.

"Point taken," she admitted.

"Woah," Castle looked at her with chagrin. "You didn't need to agree so easily," he pointed out.

She couldn't help but laugh at his affronted look.

"Now that we're done for the day," she said, deciding that maybe changing the topic was the way to go. "Dinner?"

"My place?" he replied with a smile, the one that made his eyes crinkle at the corners and her heart warm in her chest.

Frankly, it sounded very appealing. She loved her claw-footed bathtub, but Castle had a steam shower with massage jets. He also had a phenomenal wine collection. And she really liked sharing a bed with him, even when it was only to sleep, even though he sprawled all over her space and sleeping next to him was like sleeping next to a space heater. And sometimes he snored. Like a broken muffler.

"My steam shower is calling your name," he coaxed. Beckett grinned at how well he knew her.

"Alright," she acquiesced easily.

"Great," he grinned.

* * *

Castle led Beckett into his loft, not a half an hour later. The best parts of his week were the nights he spent with her, and tonight he had plans for a lovely bottle of red he'd bought just yesterday and some one-on-one time in his state-of-the-art steam shower with the love of his life.

His fantasy, however, was rudely interrupted by his mother's exuberant greeting.

"Darlings!" she exclaimed brightly from the living room. "You're home!" She rose from her seat on the couch and moved to retrieve two more wine glasses. "I have a wonderful, robust red that I was just letting breathe a bit," she called over her shoulder.

It was, of course, the same red Castle had pictured uncorking for himself and Kate. He shot his girlfriend an apologetic look while his mother's back was turned, wondering if maybe they should have gone to her place. Kate kept saying she delighted in Martha's company, but Castle thought it rather lame that, as a fully grown adult, his mother was still cramping his style.

"I thought she was out tonight," he said to Kate as he tried to think of a plan to deal with the unexpected wrench in his plans.

"I like Martha," she said, dismissing his worry. "I admire her strength and her spirit. So stop worrying."

He studied her for a moment. Of all his girlfriends and wives, Kate was one of the few who held genuine affection for his mother.

"I admire your strength and your spirit," he replied. "...And your hotness."

She rolled her eyes, but she was smiling.

"Seriously," he said, because he really had wanted to be alone with her. Tonight was the perfect evening to sip wine by the fireplace; the perfect night to make out by the fireplace. "We can go out, or to your place."

Her smile transformed into a bright grin brimming with affection. Before he could say anything else, Kate stood up on her toes and gave him a nice slow kiss, forestalling any further doubts. She was better than any wine, he thought inanely.

"You're very sweet," she said, smoothing her hands down his chest and nuzzling her nose under his chin. Just as Castle's mind went blissfully blank, Kate sidestepped him and joined Martha in the living room.

"Hi, Martha," she said happily as she took the glass of wine his mother was offering and collapsed on the couch with an easy grace. "How was your day?"

"Just lovely, dear," Martha replied. "It was a wonderful afternoon at the studio. My class is especially talented this year. The place just hums with creative energy. What about you two?" she asked. "Richard was out early this morning."

"We caught a body," Castle said, taking a seat on the couch across from Beckett and his mother. He picked up his own glass of wine. "It's a case I'm calling..." Castle paused for dramatic punctuation, before saying in his most theatrical voice. "Murder Under the Big Top."

"Ooh," Martha said, impressed. "Sounds intriguing."

"A ringmaster was murdered-" Kate began...

"Under the Big Top," Castle interjected with a large dollop of drama. Kate could still be very dry when she relayed the facts of a case. He was working on it.

Kate grinned, shaking her head as she glanced at Martha. "We have pretty promising lead."

Castle decided to take over from Kate and do the tale justice with his storytelling talents: "The ringmaster in this down-on-its-luck circus was having an affair with the contortionist. She, however, is in a long-term relationship with the circus' strongman, and both of them are currently on the lam. It's a twisted tale - pun intended - of love and jealousy." He wagged his eyebrows at his mother before saying to Beckett, "I have learned a lot about police procedure from you, but it seems you have learned nothing about how to add some dramatic flair to your storytelling from me."

"I'll stick to the facts, thank you very much, and leave the drama to you," Beckett teased.

"That would be wise dear," Martha said, patting Beckett's knee. "I doubt your captain would appreciate dramatic flair in your police reports. Though," she continued, "speaking of drama and contortionists, our family has a long history as circus and carnival performers."

"Really?" Beckett asked, her eyes sparkling with delight.

"Oh, yes," Martha continued, in her element now that she had an audience, "my-"

"Mother," Castle interrupted. "I don't think we should bore Beckett with family history-"

"No, no," Kate was quick to interject, "I'd love to hear this."

"Nonsense, Richard," his mother said at the same time.

Castle sat back in his seat, rueing the day he'd let his mother move in with him. He took a giant sip of his wine; lord knows he needed it. His mother was handing over such valuable ammunition to Kate Beckett.

"My great-aunt started out in Vaudeville," Martha began, falling into character as a teller of lascivious tales to a rapt listener, "but she joined the circus when she fell in love with a contortionist."

Beckett glanced at Castle, grinning from ear to ear. He'd always found her smiles both infectious and irresistible, so he didn't feel too bad that she'd be teasing him mercilessly about this. At least none of his forebears had been clowns.

"My own father - Richard's grandfather," Martha continued, "was raised by my great-aunt in the circus. He grew up to be a human cannonball. He was trained by a nephew of the great Ildebrando Zacchini," Martha said grandly, "inventor of the compressed air cannon that revolutionized the art of human cannonballing."

"Or a huckster who pretended to be related to the great Ildebrando Zacchini," Castle observed wryly.

Beckett chuckled, while Martha rolled her eyes and waved a hand at her son, telling him to hold his tongue.

"My mother," she continued, "who came from a very strict and very conservative farming family in Idaho, fell in love with my father when the circus was passing through her town. She ran away, joined his circus, and learned how to read minds."

"Trick people into believing she could read minds," Castle supplied helpfully.

"My father died when I was two," Martha said, and at Kate's crestfallen expression, she patted Beckett's knee consolingly. "Oh, there's no need for such a long face, dear. He had too much moonshine and fell into a ditch somewhere between Lincoln and Topeka."

Kate raised her eyebrows in surprise, her mouth forming a small 'o'.

"My mother was much better off without him; she was quite young when they married." Martha paused as a thought suddenly struck. She looked at Castle. "Come to think of it, we have a history of marrying young in our family. I did it, Richard did-"

"We have a history of a lot of things," Castle interrupted, deciding to hide behind sarcasm rather than letting his mortification show. His mother's lack of filter sometimes...

Beckett hid her smile behind her wineglass.

"After his death," Martha continued blithely, "my mother traveled to Coney Island where she set up shop."

"And now," Castle said, hoping to change the topic. "Kate knows more about our family's sordid past than she could ever want to. Although," he assured the woman he hoped was still his girlfriend after that walk down his lineage, "we have very high hopes for Alexis."

Beckett was laughing though, looking thoroughly entertained. "Wow, Martha. You should write a book. Or a play."

"Don't give her ideas," Castle warned, only half-joking.

"I'll leave the books to Richard," Martha said congenially, "but it would make for a wonderful play, wouldn't it, Richard?" She paused for a moment before saying in a grand tone: " I'd call it 'Somewhere Between Lincoln and Topeka'," She swiped a hand in front of her face, as though imagining the name emblazoned in lights.

"That sounds … wonderful," Castle said, trying to be supportive. He could only remember how his loft had been taken over last year for his mother's one-woman show. He cast a glance at Beckett and found her eyes twinkling with mischief, which made him realize that she was probably thinking about the exact same play. That little minx! She was setting him up!

"My grandfather dabbled in magic," Kate confided to his mother."He sawed me in half when I was six."

Martha and Castle both laughed at that.

"Well, Richard," Martha said happily, "Kate may have some performer's blood in her after all."

"You should see her in the interrogation room, or undercover," he replied, his love for her clear to see. And under the covers, he thought privately. Before his imagination could run away from him, Castle stood up. It was rather late, and neither he nor Kate had eaten much since lunch.

He refilled his mother's and Kate's glasses before saying, "I'll get us dinner ready."

"And I should go get dressed," Martha said, standing up.

"You're not staying?" Kate asked. Castle thought she actually sounded disappointed.

"Another time, dear, I will take you up on it," Martha said. "Tonight, I have an evening out with some girlfriends planned." She threw Castle a wink. "Don't wait up for me." With that, she disappeared up the stairs with her glass of wine in hand.

Beckett held out a hand, which Castle took to tug her off the couch. He led her to the kitchen, thinking that maybe his mother had learned some subtlety. Just a little.

"It was a good idea to come here," Kate said. She let go of his hand in favour of leaning against the counter and watching him as he rooted around for ingredients. "I needed that."

He set the package of chicken breast and armful of vegetables he'd fished out of the fridge onto the counter and wrapped her up in his arms.

"So," he said, brushing his nose against hers. "My illustrious family tree full of tricksters and charlatans hasn't scared you away?"

Her lips quirked in a smile. Her eyes were soft as she looked at him, and it did funny things to his insides.

"I don't scare that easy," she said.

That did funny things to his insides, too. It made him want to melt into her.

"You are a brave, brave woman." And then he kissed her. Nice and slow.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: etc, etc, and so forth.**

**A/N:** I'm adequately shame-faced for the delay. Let's just get to it...

* * *

The next morning, Beckett and Castle exited the elevator to Homicide bright and early. A couple of uniforms had spotted Garth and Sheri in East Harlem, walking out of a 24-hour bodega at 2AM, and had brought them into the 12th. Esposito had called Beckett with the news before her alarm had even gone off. So, dutifully, she had climbed out of Castle's sinfully comfortable bed and dragged Castle into the shower with her.

And now she was here, hoping they would close this frustrating case by morning's end.

Upon entering the bullpen, Beckett immediately noted that Ryan and Espo were sitting at Ryan's desk, eyes firmly glued to his computer screen. She frowned. She had expected to find them in interrogation, interviewing their two suspects.

"Something pop?" she asked them, approaching the desk.

"I know that look," Castle said excitedly, leaving Kate's side and hastening to join the boys. "There's only one reason two guys would be staring so intently at a computer screen: porn!"

"Man," Esposito said to Ryan, oblivious to Castle's comment. "She is crazy flexible."

Both detectives had their heads tilted to the right as they stared at the screen, and both were wearing matching looks of fascination and confusion.

"How did she get her leg all the way there?" Ryan asked.

"It's the incriminating video of the contortionist, isn't it?" Castle said, hurrying to get a glimpse. His eyes widened at what he saw on-screen. He cleared his throat. "Well, gentlemen, that is definitely impressive."

Beckett rolled her eyes. So much for a lead.

"I don't understand how that's possible." Ryan said..

"No normal person could do that," Esposito proclaimed, and then hesitated. "Right?"

Beckett glanced at the screen as she walked by on her way to update the murder board with the information they'd learned from Hennessy last night. "Eh," she said with a shrug. "Not impossible."

Esposito and Ryan's frowns deepened as they tried to assess the truth in Beckett's statement. Castle, for his part, whipped around to stare at her.

"What?" he stuttered. "You mean you - ah, I mean can you - um..."

The two male detective turned to stare at the writer, while Beckett went about updating the board. For his part, Castle seemed to have lost most of his higher cognitive functions.

"I think you broke him," Ryan said to Beckett. She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from smirking. Castle could be so easy sometimes.

"I thought you had game," Esposito said to Castle, with nothing short of disappointment.

"And I thought uniforms had picked up our strongman and contortionist?" Beckett asked her two non-civilian partners.

"They did," Ryan confirmed. He pointed his thumb in the direction of the interrogation rooms. "They're on ice."

Beckett paused in her writing to look at them. "Then why are you ogling a video instead of interrogating them?" she asked.

"We were waiting for you, boss," Esposito said, trying to feign an air of innocence.

"Right." She said, her tone indicating that she didn't believe them one bit. She capped her marker. "You two take the contortionist, Castle and I will take the strongman."

"Sweet." Esposito and Ryan fed the birds as they headed off towards the first interrogation room. Beckett was halfway to the second interrogation room when she realized she wasn't being followed. She turned around to see that Castle was still in front of Ryan's computer, staring into space with a slack-jawed expression.

"Castle!" she called. "This way."

"Wha-" he startled out of his reverie. "Oh, right." He quickly joined her outside interrogation, but he was still daydreaming.

"Do you want to sit this one out?" she asked him, only half-teasing. He seemed really distracted.

"What?" he said. "No! I'm fine." He cocked his head to the side and studied her for a beat. "You, ah, you were kidding around, weren't you?" He jerked a thumb in the direction of Ryan's computer, "about the video."

"Why would you think I was kidding?" she asked. "I have been doing yoga since I was a teenager."

His mouth opened, but no sound came out. She could only shake her head. So easy.

"Come on, Casanova," she said as she opened the door. "We have a case to solve."

They entered the interrogation room, and Beckett slipped on her mask of professionalism. Once she saw the Strongman, though, she couldn't help but be impressed by his size. The guy was huge - just under seven feet and built like a tank. His neck looked to be the size of her waist. He was visibly agitated; angry, even. She watched as he worked his jaw, and repeatedly fisted and unfisted his hands.

She dropped her folder on the table and chose to stand for this interrogation. Given Garth's size, if she sat she'd be looking up at him, and she didn't want to give him the advantage. Castle took a seat across from Garth. It made for an oddly comical contrast. Castle, who was usually the tallest man in a room, looked like a dwarf next to the Strongman.

"Garth Olaf," Beckett said to the very large, very muscled man squeezed into a plastic chair across from her. He was red in the face and his eyes burned with rage. "We've been looking for you."

"I did nothing," Olaf seethed. It was like being in the room with a volcano waiting to erupt, Beckett thought..

"Except get into a fight with Bartholomew Derring," Beckett said, "and threaten to kill him."

"I was angry!" he bellowed. Castle started at the sudden outburst, loud as a thunderclap.

"Exactly," Beckett said calmly. "You were so angry that you went back to find Derring later that night to finish what you'd started."

"No!" Olaf shook his head violently. A vein was throbbing on his forehead. "Not. What. Happened."

"Mr. Olaf, you need to calm down," Beckett cautioned.

"I will not calm down!" he roared. "Not after Derring forced Sheri to sleep with him! If he was alive I WOULD MURDER HIM!"

"You're not helping your case, here," Castle apparently felt the need to point out.

Olaf growled in response, which quickly made Castle shut up. Beckett thought that was a neat trick. She wasn't sure, though, what she thought of Olaf's story.

"Derring forced Sheri to sleep with him?" she asked.

"Yes! The scum!" Olaf slammed a fist into the table in anger. The room shook, and when Olaf moved his hand, the table was sporting a large, deep dent. "Just thinking of it makes me want to strangle him. But if I had killed him, you would not have found a body," he growled. "He would have been PULP."

In interrogation two, meanwhile, a teary-eyed Sheri was wiping her tears with a tissue. But there was a bitterness in her eyes. "It's true," she said to the two detectives interviewing her. "I was getting less and less time in the ring. I told Derring it wasn't fair. I was performing as great as ever. And why was I the only one being sidelined? Garner is a senior acrobat like me, but his time wasn't getting cut."

"I thought you were the troupe's contortionist," Esposito said.

She gave him a withering look. "Are you saying Garner's an acrobat and I'm a contortionist just because he's a man and I'm a woman?"

"No," Esposito stuttered, trying to defend himself in the face of her righteous anger. "I, uh, I just..."

"What my partner is trying to say," Ryan cut in, leveling a less-than-impressed glance at Espo, "is that it sounds like Derring didn't respect your training and skills."

"He didn't," Sheri said, nodding eagerly at Ryan. "When I confronted him, he just laughed at me. He said there was an easy way to fix it. All I had to do was sleep with him."

"And how long did this affair go on for?" Esposito asked.

"It wasn't an affair! It was just once," she said, her anger resurfaced and brought with it tears of frustration. "Just once, he said, and I'd be back in the ring. I didn't realize the asshat would be filming it."

"Your boyfriend has been suspecting you of having an affair for quite a while," Esposito said, watching Sheri's face carefully for a reaction. "Are you sure it was only once?"

"Yes, I'm sure." Sheri glared at Esposito through her tears. "That was just Garth being Garth. He's always been possessive and jealous."

"Why would Derring send Garth the pictures?" Ryan asked, trying to distract Sheri from her antagonism towards his partner. "It wasn't a very smart move, given Garth's temper."

"Did you not hear the part where I said Derring was an asshat?" she replied with the lift of an eyebrow. "After Garth saw the video, he went absolutely postal. I was scared he'd kill Derring. I tried explaining things, but that only made it worse. So I got him out of there. We went to the cheapest motel I could find in the city. I figured it was safer for him and for Derring that way."

"That's pretty convenient," Esposito observed.

"Hey, we didn't know Derring was dead until the cops picked us up," Sheri said defensively.

"Why did you stay an extra night?" Espo asked.

"Garth was still foaming at the mouth. No way I was taking him back until he calmed down. Hell, I wasn't even letting him out of the room. We just stayed in that dingy hotel room whole time. Only went out to get food from the bodega those cops picked us up at."

"Can anyone verify that?".

"It was the two of us," she replied with defiance, her glare shooting daggers. "What do you want me to say? I'm sorry we didn't have a threesome."

* * *

A few minutes later, once they were done taking the suspects' written statements, both parties exited their respective interrogation rooms.

"Well?" Beckett asked Ryan and Espo as they met in the hallway.

"She says they've both been at the motel since Wednesday afternoon." Esposito replied. "Didn't even know Derring had been killed that night."

"Same with the Strongman," Castle said, rubbing his ear. "Although he didn't say it so much as roar it."

"We'll have a couple of uniforms canvas the motel," Ryan continued, "see if anyone remembers seeing them. A strongman would be hard to miss."

"Agreed," Beckett replied. "Although no one at the circus remembers seeing them at all since Wednesday afternoon, which helps confirm their story."

Beckett's phone chose that moment to ring and, seeing that it was Lanie on the line, Beckett put her on speaker.

"Tell me you have an update on the hair," she begged Lanie.

"Hello to you, too," the M.E. replied. "And yes, I do. Lab says it's facial hair."

"So," Castle said, "a man-"

"I didn't say it was a man's hair," Lanie interrupted. "I said facial hair."

Castle looked at the detectives in confusion. "Wha-" and then realization struck: "The bearded lady!" he declared with a giant grin.

"Give the man a prize," Lanie's voice sounded through the speakerphone.

"Thanks, Lanie," Beckett said.

"You got it."

Beckett disconnected the call and looked at Ryan and Esposito. "The bearded lady," she said, "Beatrice Warner. She has an alibi, right?"

"Said she was with Jack Red, and he confirmed it." Ryan flipped through his notebook until he found the right page. "From 10PM to about 2AM."

"Any possible motive?" she asked.

"Derring told her to shave?" Castle quipped.

"Don't joke." Ryan replied. "Javi and I spoke with her. She has an impressive beard. It's like," he drew his hand along his chin, down his neck. "It's long. And thick."

Castle looked to Espo for confirmation.

"It was alright," Esposito shrugged. "I've had longer and thicker."

"Sure," Castle said, clearly humouring the other man. "But I bet it was nothing like the beard I sported in my struggling writer days. That got me some serious street cred."

"Pffft," was Espo's only response.

Beckett could only watch the male posturing with amusement. She knew from experience that Castle's facial hair tended towards spotty if he let it grow out beyond a couple days. Though, admittedly, she enjoyed the days when he chose to forgo shaving. Unfortunately, it was a look he rarely wore in public anymore. Too bad. She liked how his scruff felt against her...

"I could, too," Ryan was saying, and Beckett pulled herself back to reality.

"Baby face like you," Esposito replied. "No way."

Castle, too, shook his head though he had the grace to look like he was commiserating with Ryan.

Before Beckett could interrupt their posturing and remind her teammates that they had a case to solve, Esposito's phone chimed. He fished the phone out of his pocket and opened the text message flashing on his screen.

"It's from Mark, in Tech," he said, eyes scanning the message. "He managed to retreive some deleted voicemails from our vic's phone. Guess who left Derring an angry message the day he was killed?"

"Given Derring's reputation," Castle commented, "I'll guess...everyone he ever knew?"

"David Garner." Esposito revealed.

"The senior acrobat?" Beckett said. "What did he say in the message?"

"Threatened him over withholding the last month's wages."

"He pretty much told us he fantasized about killing Derring," Castle pointed out.

"Yeah. He admitted that withheld wages was a sore point for him," Beckett said, her own frustration leaking out. "He already copped to having a motive; the message just corroborates that, along with the fight he got into with Derring. He's also the one who kept Olaf from beating Derring to death." She ran her hands through her hair. "I feel like we're just chasing our tails here."

"It's hard to solve a murder when everyone wanted the victim dead," Castle said.

"Alright," Beckett said, trying to order her thoughts and come up with a plan of action. "We don't have conclusive evidence on any one suspect. What we do have are lots of motives, lots of circumstantial evidence, and lots of alibis. So instead of installing a revolving door in the interrogation room, here's what we do. We go over everything we have again, see if anything new pops, maybe we catch someone out in a lie or an omission. Maybe we missed something. We see what we come up with, and move from there."

Esposito and Ryan nodded, but both looked glum.

"I really thought the strongman would be our guy," Ryan said.

"I thought it was the clown," Espo said. He looked at Castle with nothing short of accusation. "This is on you, bro," he pointed a finger at the writer.

"Yeah, you jinxed it," Ryan confirmed.

Castle just looked amused.

"I'll roll the murder board into the conference room," Esposito said, but he was still shaking his head at Castle.

"I'll get the files," Ryan said. When both wandered off to do their respective tasks, Castle turned to Beckett. He was wearing a wide grin.

"And I'll make us coffee," he offered. "This is shaping up to be a fantastic mystery!"

Beckett shook her head. "Don't let the guys hear you say that."

* * *

Two hours later, the three detectives and a writer sat around the conference table. Their workspace was littered with files, half-empty mugs of coffee, and boxes of donuts. This was exactly the kind of scene Castle had pictured would be a regular occurrence when he'd first started shadowing Beckett. It still pleased him no end that he'd gone from observer to actual team-member in this set-up. It was the closest he'd get to being an actual cop without going to the academy and taking all those boring tests. Not to mention, as a civilian consultant, he didn't have to worry about paperwork.

The one bummer, though, was that they had been looking over files for hours and, so far, nothing new had turned up. Castle was about to offer another round of coffee - he needed to stretch his legs and take a break in any case - when Beckett dropped the file she was reading with a big huff and looked around at her colleagues.

"Anything?" she asked.

"Nothing," all three men chorused.

Esposito sighed. "I went as far back as the sword-swallower's suicide fifteen years ago, just to be sure, but there isn't much to go on. No foul play was suspected, so no investigation was launched and the police reports are sloppy."

"What happened to the wife?" Beckett asked.

"She quit the circus and pretty much fell off the face of the earth. Took their son with her."

"They had a son?" Castle asked.

"Yep. Named after his father, Jacob Smith."

"Another dull name for a stage-performer," Castle noted. How disappointingly normal.

"Actually, his stage name was The Red Blade. All the swords in his act had red hilts," Espo offered by way of clarification. "Named their kid Jacob Jr."

"Hold on," Ryan said, straightening in his chair and digging through his own stack of files. "Jacob Jr.? What's his birth date?"

"October 3rd, 1988."

Ryan flipped open a file and quickly skimmed it. "Here!" he said, looking up at his colleagues. "That's Jack Red's birthdate."

"Jack Red?" Castle said, "he's Jacob Jr, son of The Red Blade?" He turned to Beckett: "Hennessy said he couldn't understand why Jack Red joined the Little Apple, he was way too talented."

"So he joined the troupe to avenge his father," Beckett continued the thought. He watched her work through the case from this new angle. "The Bearded Lady and the Acrobat said they were with him during the murder window..."

"Maybe they're covering for him," Esposito said.

"Okay. Let's bring all three of them in," Beckett said

"I like this guy for it," Castle began. "I bet he did it-"

"Don't jinx it!" Ryan and Espo both said at once.

Castle, pretending to be appropriately chastised, mimed zipping his mouth shut.

He was rewarded for that bit of showmanship by a sour look from both Ryan and Espo.

* * *

"Jack Red," Kate said, taking a seat across from the tightrope walker. He was in his mid-twenties and undeniably good-looking, with dark hair and even darker eyes.

"Or, should we call you Jacob Smith Jr?" Castle asked with his trademark smugness.

Beckett watched Red closely, and saw the quick flash of worry in his eyes before it was masked. Beyond that reaction, though, their suspect remained silent and stone-faced.

"Fifteen years ago," Beckett began when she saw that Red would not be forthcoming, "your father-"

"Stop," Jack said.

"Your father," Beckett continued, appealing to the emotions which were apparently the crack in Red's stoic armour, "killed himself because of Bartholomew Derring. You blame him for your father's death, and frankly, so would I."

"What do you know?" Red spat out. "What do you know about losing your father and seeing your mother spiral out of control with the grief?"

Beckett kept her game-face on, or at least she tried her best to. She could feel Castle's gaze on her, but she ignored it.

"I know how much it hurts to lose a loved one to violence," she said instead, softening her tone to draw Red out. "I know what it feels like to want to hold the person who did it responsible for their actions." She paused to let her words sink in. "But murder isn't justice, Jack."

Red's anger, for the moment, was replaced with curiosity. He watched her carefully, head cocked to the side. She could see how close he was to confessing, and decided to give the final nudge.

"What happened that night, Jack?"

The tightrope walker sighed, rubbed a hand over his face, and then looked away. She thought there was something close to remorse in his eyes.

"I..." he said, and then she watched his resolve harden. He looked her in the eye. "Either you charge me with something," he told Beckett, "Or you let me go."

* * *

Castle followed Kate into the viewing room to watch Ryan's interview with the Bearded Lady. Maybe he was having better luck than they'd had.

"Hey," Castle said to Beckett once the door was shut behind them. "You okay?"

"Fine," she said, but wouldn't look at him. Instead, she focused on the interview being conducted on the other side of the two-way mirror. She leaned back against the table in the room, and he took his place beside her. He tried to think of what he could say when she so wound up, but he wasn't sure how to proceed. This hadn't really come up, her loss and her long-standing grief, since she'd coldcocked Bracken with the butt of her gun. And since then, well, their relationship had become deeper and fuller in such wonderful ways...maybe a part of him was afraid to rock the boat, to overstep the lines she'd so clearly drawn when she was nineteen.

"Castle," she finally broke the silence. "You've known me for years, now. This isn't the first time a suspect's situation has mirrored mine, and it won't be the last." She turned her head slightly to look at him. "I'm fine," she said emphatically. "It doesn't get any easier, and I don't think it will until Bracken is behind bars, but this isn't anything I can't handle."

He studied the smooth lines of her face, the strength in her eyes and that lingering sadness. He reached down to take her hand in his, smoothed his thumb over her knuckles.

"I know," he finally said. "But for all the years I've known you, I've wanted to earn the right to ask you if you were okay." He grinned. "And I finally got it, so I'm going to exercise it." His expression sobered, "Kate, you're not alone in this."

She squeezed his hand. "I know."

The door to the room opened, so she pulled her hand away and he let her go.

"She's sticking to her story," Ryan said as he and Esposito walked in.

"So's Anderson," Espo added.

Castle peered through the glass at the Bearded Lady. She was sporting a very impressive beard, but otherwise was not what he'd pictured. She looked about as tall as Alexis, and was very slim. In fact, beyond the beard, there wasn't a masculine thing about her.

"And Red's not playing ball," Beckett informed them. She frowned. "We can't keep him. All we have is a weak alibi and motive. It's not enough to build a case."

"And a motive is basically what every troupe-member we've interviewed has," Castle added.

"Okay." Beckett stood up. "Ryan, Espo, see if you can track down Red's mother. Maybe she knows something." She turned to Castle. "You and I," she said, "we're going back to basics. We're going to walk the crime scene."

"Back to the circus?" Castle said. "Only if you get me a corndog."

* * *

A half hour later, Beckett and Castle were walking up the main fairgrounds pathway leading to the big tent. They were well into the circus grounds, and Beckett had noticed the distinctly chilly atmosphere that had greeted them.

"Why does it feel like everyone here is circling the wagons?" Castle asked, verbalizing exactly what she was thinking. She apparently wasn't the only one to see the suspicious, borderline hostile, looks being leveled their way.

"Probably means we're doing our job right," Beckett reasoned. She took reassurance in the comforting weight of her weapon against her hip. "Don't worry," she said lightly to Castle as they reached the big tent, "I've got your back."

They slipped under the crime scene tape to enter the tent, and Beckett scanned the stands, just to make sure no one was either lying in wait or eavesdropping. Before she could take more than a couple of steps into the main ring, however, Castle gripped her wrist tightly.

"Woah. Woah," he hissed. "Stop."

"Wha-?" she turned her attention from the stands to Castle, but was stopped short at the sight of a lion roaming the big ring. "What the-! Is that a lion?" she whispered.

"Norbert," Castle replied, an undercurrent of panic detectable in his voice. He held tight to Kate's wrist. "That's Norbert."

The both stood stock still, watching the lion as it nosed around the corner of the stage where Derring had been found.

"It's contaminating the crime scene," Beckett hissed.

Castle's grip on her wrist tightened, making sure she didn't move. "I don't think that's our main concern right now!" he protested. "What about Norbert having us for lunch?"

That was a very good point, Beckett thought.

"We need to get out of here, before he notices us." As soon as Beckett said it, Norbert looked up and caught sight of them. The lion straightened, and stared them down, baring his teeth.

"Not good. Not good," Castle said. "Don't move."

"Lions aren't like sharks, Castle," Beckett whispered, with perhaps more force than was strictly necessary. "It can see us."

The lion took one last sniff of the rear corner of the stage before stepping onto the platform, towards Derring's dried blood.

Beckett held her breath, hoping the blood would be enough of a distraction for her and Castle to get out. The lion, however, walked straight towards them without stopping to sniff the blood in its path.

"We could make a run for it," she suggested.

"Oh no," Castle said. "I've watched the Discovery Channel. Lions are fast. Faster than puny humans."

"Do you have a better idea?" She shook his grip off her hand, stepped out in front of Castle, and pulled her gun out of its holster. Beckett aimed her pistol at the lion.

"You're going to shoot Norbert?" Castle exclaimed, horrified.

"Two seconds ago you were worried it was going to eat us for lunch!"

"Right," he acknowledged. "Good point. That is still a valid concern...but shooting him-"

"Castle!" Beckett hissed, watching as the lion approached them, its pace had gone from a slow stroll to a trot. It was maybe fifteen feet away, but the gap was closing quickly. The lion growled, and Beckett felt the vibrations in her chest. Its eyes glinted ferociously. She tightened her grip on her gun. They needed to think fast.

"Okay," Castle muttered from behind her. "I officially hate the circus."


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

* * *

The lion growled again, its pace quickening. The large beast was now only ten feet away. Beckett took a step back, and so did Castle.

The lion stopped in its tracks. Its nose twitched, and then Norbert opened his mouth and licked his teeth.

"Castle," Beckett said, her tone clipped. "Stay behind me. Try to ease your way back out of the tent."

"Wait. What?" He exclaimed in a loud whisper. "No! What about you?"

"If the lion tries to follow you," she chose not to give the obvious answer to his question, "I'll shoot him."

"I am not going anywhere without you," he insisted.

Beckett had to resist rolling her eyes. "This isn't about playing hero, Castle. I have a gun. You don't. Go."

"No."

"Do you have a better idea?"

"We need to distract it," he said. "Give ourselves - _both of us _- time to escape."

"And how do suggest we do that?" She watched in slow-mounting horror as Norbert resumed walking towards them. He was so close, she could smell the heat off his fur. Her pulse pounded. Keeping one hand on the gun, she grabbed Castle's arm with the other, tugging him back along with her.

"Maybe," he said, searching the area around them, "maybe if we threw something behind him-"

The lion suddenly roared, and it was the most deafening, heart-stopping, terrifying thing Beckett had ever heard. The ground beneath her feet shook, and her heart skipped a few painful beats.

"I have to shoot it," Beckett said. "On three, you run, Castle. No arguments." She cocked her gun and aimed between the lion's eyes.

"Kate," he started to protest, but she wouldn't let him.

"One," she said.

She felt his hand come to rest on her hip, and give a gentle squeeze.

"Two," he continued, resigned.

She rested her finger against the trigger.

"Thr-"

"Norbert!" A sudden, commanding voice barked out from behind them. "Heel."

Immediately, the lion sat back on its haunches. Alex Hastings, the lion tamer, entered the ring from behind them, and put himself between them and the lion. "I am so sorry about this!" he gushed, quickly making his way to Norbert's side. "I went to check on Norbert and saw the lock on his cage had been jimmied. Thank god I found him before he got hurt!" he reached into his pocket, produced some pieces of dried meat, and fed them to the big cat. "He's quite old," he said to a still-mute, still-terrified Beckett and Castle. "He has terrible vision. Cataracts. Goodness knows what kind of trouble he would have gotten himself into." Hastings looked from Castle to Beckett, to the gun in Beckett's white-knuckled hand. "You weren't really in any danger, I assure you. Norbert is a sweetheart. Poor guy can't even see properly."

Beckett looked at Norbert, who was looking quite harmless at the moment, blinking up at Hastings guilelessly. She decided it was safe to put away her gun.

"He only really follows the smell of blood, or meat," Hastings said.

"Oh," Castle said, as though he'd been hit with a lightning bolt of awareness. He reached into his pocket and took out a packet of beef jerky. "That explains it," he said nodding. He let out a nervous, relieved laugh.

At the sight of the meat, Norbert growled.

"Seriously, Castle?" Beckett said, glaring at the writer.

"What?" he replied with a defensive shrug. "I didn't know he liked jerky. Um," he looked at the bag of jerky in his hands, then at Norbert. "Do you want to give it to him?" he asked Hastings.

"Oh, no, no," Hastings said, horrified at the very thought. "He's on a strict diet. Prepackaged jerky has too much sodium."

For all the strange things she'd come across in this line of work, Beckett thought, a sodium-intolerant lion with cataracts was going to end up very high on the list.

"Come on, Norbert," Hastings said, tying a leash to Norbert's collar. "Time to go."

"You said the lock on Norbert's cage had been jimmied?" Beckett asked before Hastings could leave.

"Forced open," Hastings confirmed.

"I'm going to have our crime scene unit come and take a look at it," she told Hastings. "Can you put Norbert elsewhere for the time being?"

"Of course," he said. "Not a problem."

Hastings headed off with Norbert in tow, and Beckett looked at Castle, letting her heartbeat slow from its frantic pace.

"You think someone let the lion out on purpose to scare us away?" he asked.

"How else would Norbert get out of a locked cage?" Beckett replied. "Hopefully whoever broke the lock left prints. Seriously, though," she continued, studying her boyfriend. "Two thousand dollars in cash and beef jerky. That's what you carry around in your pockets?"

"Yes," he nodded as though he was perfectly normal, "Why? What do you carry?"

"A police badge and a gun," she said.

He looked at her for a moment. "Well," he said, "some days I also carry a pen. And everyone knows that the pen is mightier than the sword. Or the gun, in this case."

"Of course it is," she shot him a teasing grin as she took out her cell phone out to call CSU. "You did a great job writing us out of that situation."

"Says the woman who's been haranguing me for an advance copy of 'Frozen Heat'."

She wisely chose not to respond to that.

* * *

Castle walked out of the break room, having washed up after his and Beckett's last cup of coffee. He saw Beckett leaning against her desk, staring intently at the murderboard. She was wearing that cute, angry-annoyed look of hers. Her frustration with the case was clear to see. A quick glance at the wallclock confirmed his suspicion: it was time to call it a night. He wondered if he could pull Kate away...He'd bet he could.

"Well, I'd say today belongs solidly in the win category," Castle said as he made his way to Kate.

She shot him an incredulous look. "The win category? We almost got eaten by a lion, CSU didn't find any prints on the cage or the jimmied lock, our walk of the crime yielded no additional information, we don't have a suspect." She paused. "Or we have too many suspects," she amended, "depending on which way you look at it. The evidence is inconclusive, and we have no murder weapon. We can't rule anyone out. All we have is two custodians who heard a thumping sound at 2AM, an odd pattern of stab wounds, and a surfeit of people who wanted the vic dead."

"Everything you said is true," he acknowledged. "But I've known all day what colour underwear you're wearing. As far as I'm concerned, that's a win."

She shook her head at him, but her eyes were sparkling and her mouth was smiling so he considered his mission accomplished. He grinned at her, and wished he could touch her.

"Come on," he said, "let me take you out for a late dinner."

Her glance flitted from him to the murderboard, before she let out a sigh. "Alright." She stood up. "We can pick up where we left off, tomorrow. Start with fresh eyes."

"Great," he gave her a warm smile as he helped her with her coat. "What suits your fancy tonight?"

"Some good company after a long day," she replied easily. She slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow and he smirked, feeling quite good about himself. She threw him a teasing glance and added, "but I guess I'll have to settle for a burger and fries with you."

"Funny," he replied. "Just for that, I am not showing you my juggling skills."

"However will I survive," she deadpanned.

* * *

Castle and Beckett were seated in the back corner table of a cozy Italian restaurant. His knee brushed against hers under the table, and he let his eyes roam her face. They sipped wine to a soundtrack of tinkling cutlery and the low hum of conversation among their fellow diners. A slow song full of longing played over the speakers. Castle thought this was exactly what both he and Kate needed to shed the stress of a frustrating case. Given her relaxed manner and easy smiles, he knew he was right in bringing her here. Since she'd gone back to work, he had made great sport of picking the perfect restaurant for their dates, especially on work nights. After so many years of watching her go home alone or to someone else, he liked that he was the one to help her unwind and shed the workday.

She slipped her hand into his, pulling him from his thoughts. Her thumb was soft and smooth as she stroked his palm. He couldn't help but smile, admiring how lovely she looked in the flickering candlelight.

Kate returned his smile, eyes warm with affection as she watched him.

"Thanks," she said, "this is perfect."

"Wait until your risotto gets here, it's the best in the city," he promised. "Ideal comfort food. And with a case like the one we caught," he continued, "comfort food is exactly what the doctor ordered."

She sighed, pulling her hand from his and reaching instead for her wineglass.

"You know," she said, her frustration peeking through as she slowly spun the glass, "I'm sure Jack Red did it."

He bit back his smile at how cute she looked when she got angry.

"Me too," he agreed. "It makes for a great story."

"If only he hadn't lawyered up. We could've cracked him."

He hummed in agreement, taking a sip of his wine. "That was disappointing."

"It's strange though," she began, but then stopped.

"What is?" he prompted.

"Why release the lion on us?" she asked, searching his face for an answer. "Red was still at the station with his lawyer..."

"The troupe members weren't exactly the warmest lot," he pointed out. "Maybe it was a show of solidarity to warn us from meddling any further?"

"But we have nothing on Red, no hard evidence. Releasing the lion would only make us look harder and closer. Besides, they've been pointing fingers at each other as much as they've been alibiing each other out. Everyone is someone else's alibi, except for the knife thrower who was at an open mic, and the lion tamer who was visiting his parents at their nursing home."

"It's almost like they're trying to confuse us," Castle said offhandedly.

As soon as he said it though, the idea took root. He and Beckett both sat up straight in their chairs.

"What if that is what they're doing?" Beckett said. "We have no hard evidence, only each troupe member's statement."

"So they're covering up for one of their own," Castle offered. "But who are they covering for? Red?"

A frown creased Beckett's brow, her eyes were deep in thought. "Okay," she said, "say they're all covering for Red: why keep up the charade? I mean, they've obstructed the investigation, but they stand to lose more if Red is apprehended. Why not just turn him in and go about their merry way? After all, Derring is dead and he was the main source of the troupe's misery."

"Because," Castle said excitedly, the pieces clicking into place, "they _have _done something. They have a stake in the murder."

"How would they have a stake?" Beckett asked, confused. "Unless they all-"

"They all stabbed him!" he exclaimed, too stoked by the idea to let her finish. "That would explain the inconsistent, seemingly random stabwounds! This is like a Murder on the Orient Express!"

Beckett's eyes widened at the realization. "That's why they're all sticking to the story. It's..." she hesitated.

"Brilliant?" Castle suggested.

"Nearly impossible to prove," Beckett said instead, her shoulders slumping. "Lanie said it's unlikely she'd be able to pinpoint exactly which wound was the fatal blow."

"And even if she could," Castle said, "we don't have the murder weapon."

"They either hid the knife, or they threw it out after they all stabbed Derring," Beckett said.

"Norbert!" Castle exclaimed.

"The lion?" Beckett frowned.

"Hastings said that Norbert is old and can't see well."

"So?"

"He's only attracted by the smells of blood and meat," he cocked an eyebrow, waiting for his words to sink in.

"Blood," she said, and he could practically see the lightbulb go off over Beckett's head. "Norbert was pawing at the back corner of the stage! There was no blood visible there-"

"Which means there must be blood _under_ the stage! That would explain the strange thumping sound the two custodians heard: the killers were replacing the floorboards after hiding the knife. It's clever: the stage won't go down until CSU clears the scene."

"And the two custodians are new hires, so they weren't in on the murder and didn't know what the thumping sounds they heard that night were."

They both looked at each other.

"We need to get to the crime scene!" they both said at once.

Castle raised a hand to flag the waiter, while Kate slipped on her coat.

"We should get dinner packed to go," Castle said as he pulled his wallet out of his pocket. "You seriously do need to try this risotto."

* * *

This time, Beckett brought a couple of uniforms to guard the crime scene while she and Castle searched for the knife. She wedged the edge of a crowbar between the planks at the rear of the stage and pulled. The plank came out easily.

Castle shone a flashlight into the darkened gap. "Do you see anything?" he asked.

"I think..." she crouched down and reached into the stage with her gloved hand. "I saw something."

She felt around a bit, frowning in concentration, when suddenly her expression lit up. "Got it!" She pulled out a plastic bag, and unwrapped the blood-covered knife it held. She shared a victorious look with Castle.

"I would say we finally caught a break," Castle said sagely, "but I don't want to jinx it."

* * *

After conferring with her team and Gates, Beckett decided that their best approach was to gather all members of the troupe in the same room, and confront them before splitting them up for individual interrogations. The precinct's conference room was the only room with enough chairs to seat everyone, so here she was with Castle beside her.

Beckett dropped the knife onto the table in front of her, and saw eight pairs of eyes widen. She very deliberately and very slowly looked at each suspect in the room. The Senior Acrobat. The Clown. The Strongman. The Contortionist. The Bearded Lady. The Tightrope Walker. The two Junior Acrobats.

"Well, ladies and gentlemen," she said to the persons in the room. "Here is where we stand." She waited until she had everyone's full attention before continuing - and Castle told her she hadn't learned anything about dramatic storytelling from him. Ha.

"We found the knife used to kill Bartholomew Derring. We have the eight of you. All of you had great reason to see Derring dead. Each and every one of you has motive, but each and every one of you also has an alibi. Conveniently, though," she arched an eyebrow, "you are all each other's alibis. And finally, we have a set of strange stabwounds on Derring's body: some are deep and some are shallow. Most have different angles of thrust."

She waited a beat.

"But," she continued, "here is where things get interesting."

"We talked the M.E., you see," Castle stepped in, "and she said the stabwounds are only strange if we assume one person stabbed Derring. They make perfect sense if not one, but eight people stabbed and killed Derring."

As he spoke, Beckett paid close attention to each of the suspects, trying to find the weak link. It looked, however, like the troupe was presenting a remarkably strong and united front. Not a single member looked overly nervous or fidgety.

"You can't know which stab wound killed Bart," Red said dismissively.

"Shut up, Jack," Garner, the acrobat hissed.

"That's exactly right," Castle acknowledged. "We can't know which stab wound killed Derring. And if none of you confesses, you'll all be charged with murder in the first degree. But," he said, "the DA is willing to negotiate a plea and show some leniency to whomever among you confesses..."

"We aren't stupid," Red said. "You can't prove anything."

"Jack! Seriously, shut your mouth," Beatrice, the Bearded Lady, said it this time. Red looked appropriately chastised.

"Your best bet," Beckett informed the troupe. "Is to cooperate."

Castle stepped back and opened the conference room's door. Eight uniformed officers were waiting just outside to escort each suspect to a separate room for interrogation. This way, the detectives could press each suspect for a confession in exchange for a plea bargain, and hedge their bets that at least one would break. Hopefully it worked, because otherwise the D.A. was going to have a difficult time prosecuting eight suspects for a crime where any one of them could have delivered the fatal blow.

She stepped out of the room to give the uniforms the space they needed. Castle followed her out.

"You think they'll give each other up?" he asked her as they joined Ryan and Esposito in the hallway.

She shook her head. "I don't think so. Our best strategy would be to provoke Olaf's temper, but I have a feeling they're going to stick with their stories." She turned to Ryan and Espo. "Castle and I'll take Red and Olaf," Beckett said. "Espo: you have Anderson-"

"Wait. Hold up," Espo cut in. "I think Ryan should interrogate Anderson."

"Don't worry," Castle said. "He's not in his clown costume today."

"I wasn't saying it because he's a clown," Espo defended. "Just, I think he would relate better to Ryan."

Ryan frowned, unsure Espo meant by that. Beckett just arched an eyebrow, telling him exactly how unreasonable he was being.

"Right," Espo said, clearing his throat. "I'll take Anderson."

"And the Bearded Lady," Beckett finished. "Ryan, you have the two junior acrobats. Whoever finishes their interviews first gets Sheri."

"You got it," Ryan said, heading towards his first interrogation.

"On it," Espo concurred, following his partner.

"Let's start with Olaf?" Beckett asked Castle. He nodded in agreement, and followed her down the hallway.

"I have a good feeling about this," Castle said. "No way he controls his temper through the interview.

* * *

Eight interviews later, the three detectives and their writer met back at Beckett's desk. All four were wearing equally downtrodden, frustrated expressions.

"No luck?" Beckett asked, even though their demeanours made the answer obvious.

The two other detectives shook their heads.

"I thought Olaf would crack," Castle said.

"You jinxed it," Ryan and Esposito chorused, shaking their heads at the writer.

Beckett ran a hand through her hair, and let out a frustrated breath. "It's out of our hands now," she said. "I'll go brief Gates and call the A.D.A." Neither of whom would be pleased, she knew.

"I'll wait out here," Castle said. "Leave you to it."

She grinned. "I've got your back, but apparently you don't have mine."

"Please," he scoffed. "A lion is nothing compared to Iron Gates."

"So," Espo said hopefully, "you'll brief Gates and the A.D.A.? We'll clear the board, box away the files..."

"Not so quick," Beckett said. "If you're sending me into the figurative lion's den, you're doing the paperwork for this case."

"Deal," Ryan said quickly, and they headed to their desks before Beckett changed her mind.

"Hey," Castle said, halting Beckett before she could leave. "You don't think I jinxed the case, do you?"

"Please, Castle," she scoffed. "Who are you talking to?"

"Right," he grinned. "I'm still trying to convince you there's such a thing as fate. How am I doing on that, by the way?"

"Getting warmer," she said with a wink, before heading to Gates' office.

He watched her until she entered Gates' office and the blinds obstructed his view. Then, Castle wandered over to his usual seat by Beckett's desk, pulled out his phone, and settled in to wait for her. It didn't take too long before Beckett returned to her desk.

"How'd it go?" Castle said as he watched Beckett check her phone for messages.

"Well, sometimes we have to leave some of the work for the D.A.," Beckett said. "He's going to try to get a joint trial, while all the defense lawyers will apply for separate trials."

"It's not a very satisfying ending," he observed.

"No," she agreed. "It's not."

He watched her as logged off of her work computer and packed away her desk. Derring had no family and no friends. In fact, not a single person they'd spoken to had anything nice to say about the Ringmaster. Castle thought of the man's downward spiral, starting fifteen years ago, and couldn't help but feel sad. He consoled himself that there was comfort in knowing that even the scummier elements of society had someone fighting for their justice. And that thought brought his attention back to Kate, who had just finished squaring away her workspace.

"So," Beckett cast him a mischievous glance that had his heart beating in doubletime. "Want to come over?" she asked. "I believe you wanted to see my yoga moves."

He broke into a wide grin, all melancholy thoughts easily banished from his mind in the face of Beckett's flirting.

"Yes, please," he replied, already standing up and gathering their coats. "Show me your best moves."

She laughed. "I think you might need to work your way up to my best moves, Castle. You're not that limber."

"I'll have you know," he said as he helped her put on her coat, "I could do a split when I was ten years old."

"Oh," she replied, leading him towards the elevator, "that recently, huh?"

* * *

An hour later, any morose thoughts had been completely and utterly cleared from Richard Castle's mind. He was occupied with a much more important and pleasurable pursuit.

The curtains in Kate's apartment were drawn, blocking out the thousands of lightbulbs that brightened the New York night. Not a single such bulb was on in her home tonight. Her bedroom was painted in darkness, with only a few candles lit for ambiance. All that could be seen was the outline of their two bodies, shifting against the bedsheets and casting flickering shadows against the wall.

"Oh wow," Castle said, his voice rough with effort. "You weren't kidding. You are flexible. I can't believe..." here he paused to take a breath, "I can't believe I didn't know you could do this..."

"Mmm," she replied, eyes closed as she focused on feeling every nuance of him with her.

"That feels..." He breathed out deeply, somewhere between a grunt and a moan. "Kate. That's … amazing."

"Not there yet, Castle," she said, opening her eyes. Her voice was rich and deep, riding the steady push of pleasure. "You need to move your leg around me like..." she trailed off to position him properly.

"Like wha- ow! Ouch! Kate!"

"Come on," she coaxed, her voice lilting with amusement. "Try harder. Here, let me." Her hand slid over his thigh. "Just a bit further-"

"Beckett!" he yelped, "a man is not meant to move like that! Apples! Apples!"

Kate's giggles melted into the warm glow of candlelight.

"It is not good for my ego to have you laugh at me in bed," Castle pointed out, still a little breathless from the exertion.

"Aw, poor baby," Kate teased. She moved slowly. The rustle of bedsheets and the slow slide of body over body could be heard in the dark room. "Is that better?"

"Hmm," his sigh was drawn out by desire's slow, languid pull. "Like that. I have never been so grateful for yoga in my life."

And those were the last coherent words his brain was capable of forming for a long, long while.

* * *

the end.


End file.
